


Curtains, Posters, and Cream

by BraveKate



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Cohabitation, Curtain Fic, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Fluff without Plot, LITERALLY, M/M, Pointless, Slice of Life, a minor background breakup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 15:58:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10665996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BraveKate/pseuds/BraveKate
Summary: Isak thinks their new place is cursed. There are curtains.





	Curtains, Posters, and Cream

Even is the most colorful and alive thing in their apartment so far. (Aside from the succulents that are exclusively there because their continuous survival requires only two things: a) well- sparsed spritzing, and b) to be left alone.)

“You know what I’ve discovered,” he says thoughtfully, entering the kitchen with eyes glued to his laptop Google search.

Obviously, they have no electric (or even mechanical) mixer. Isak’s hand is already killing him, so he bites back an irritated, “What!”

“There are, apparently, different kinds of cream?”

“Like, cow cream and goat cream and sheep cream?”

Even raises his head and looks, well, sheepish. “No, but, like, the kind that whips and the kind that doesn’t? It has to be at least thirty three percent fat to do the thing. What kind did you get?”

Isak slams the bowl and the whisk on the counter. It clatters and splatters all over everything. “The fifteen percent kind because I thought it was healthier.”

Laptop abandoned, Even comes over, and Isak’s crumping wrist soon gets a gentle massage. Even raises the hand higher, to his mouth, and licks a droplet of the flat, not cool, deceitful cream from the knuckle.

So everything works out in the end, pretty much.

***

Of course Noora knows how to sew – because if someone does, it’s her. Of course.

Even’s mom gave them a pair of inoffensive white curtains that are now in need of a trim, being too long and all. Trimming with a professional costs unnecessary money that could be put towards… not beer. Definitely not beer; eating. So they pulled up some YouTube tutorials, which, as it turned out, only instructed the privileged machine-havers. Isak strategically whined for a whole week, conjuring Noora with a slightly smashed tin box of Is There Ever Any Cookies In Those at their doorstep.

“This reminds me, I once read a Russian children’s book, ‘Uncle Fedya’, about a very autonomous boy,” Even declares.

“O-kay,” Isak says.

“There was a talking cat, and a talking dog, and an anthropomorphic tractor that runs on spoilt food.”

“Okay.”

“So the boy lives with them, away from his parents. They manage their own farm and stuff.”

“And it reminds you of me?”

“What?” Even shakes out of the memories, surprised. “No! Clearly, it reminds me of Noora! She’s very autonomous.”

She instructs them through measuring, pinning, and ironing the fabric down. They work on the same curtain simultaneously, from opposite sides inwards, competing to reach the neon yellow central pin first (loser does the dishes for a month). Noora beside them is manning the other one. Something bland involving Zooey Deschanel angsting after her ukulele for a whole movie plays on the computer.

Then Noora pricks her finger slightly and starts crying, but not like, oops, unexpected pain, and more like oops, sublimated existential crisis finally exploded. After some time, it can be deciphered that she doesn’t want to talk, just ball her eyes out. Even goes to make some tea and add band-aids to their shopping list of “ **FOOD** , CONDOMS, mixer?”, while Isak calls Eskild. Who, to his credit, quickly comes over. But, instead of taking Noora home, plops right next to the girl and promptly starts sewing curtains with the rest of them. Soon the pair is also competing. Their pin is a pearly blue one.

“Eight hands, two hours, we octopus-ed this thing!” Even declares chirpily when it’s done. The more Isak’s outraged at their space invaders, the more he’s happy to take everything in stride. He’s on a stool to manipulate the curtain rod better, but, being a giant, has to bend his head to save it from the ceiling.

“We did, didn’t we,” Noora whispers with eyes puffy and shiny, examining the work, and presses a hand to her mouth. Eskild hugs her across the shoulders and nods, “We did.” He also looks close to tears.

Isak doesn’t- He just- What.

***

They stay for _hours_. And the place is by no means big, not to mention there was limited tea supply to begin with.

Yes, Isak isn’t repressed anymore or whatever, but that has a side-effect. He’s also less insecure now, and is confident enough to fall back on his more prickly behaviors. Such as looking towards the already dark slit between the new curtains and yawning pointedly.

“Oh yeah, it’s getting late,” Even says, and Isak cheers up, glad to finally have his boyfriend on board. “You guys want blankets?”

Full-on outrage floods his veins. But… Even was so awesome today. And when Eskild produced a bottle of wine to inhale, Even, unprompted, only had like, maybe two sips. If he wants his weird surrogate in-laws to stay, they can stay. Also, Isak himself (under the breath somewhere they couldn’t hear and very hurriedly) would confess he likes them both a lot, too.

“Thanks,” Eskild whispers. Noora is already burrowed against his side, face deep in the crevice between the couch pillows and Eskild’s ribs. Her hair, illuminated by the TV screen, has a teal tint to it. Even gets them another Bech Næsheim household hand-me-down, large enough to show the whole new world on. The movie ends as they swaddle the girl and lay her down fully, and Isak presses replay for some white noise, but lowers the volume.

The kitchen, where they still try to keep quiet, is significantly less messy than even two weeks ago. There are jars all over: a jar to keep old batteries in before recycling, a jar for washed dried eggshells Even collects for the future lavender soil. There’s one for wine corks that are going to become a DIY corkboard, and Eskild adds to it with a sigh. Even, the loser of the curtain challenge, goes to wash their chipped mugs.

“Remind me to buy you some cute cups. A couple’s set,” their guest says. “‘Hubby’ and ‘Hubby’ or whatever.”

Isak’s god-given mission for the month is to distract Even from any more DIYs, especially that one with the burning acetone-soaked string and beer bottles, so he whisper-shouts:

“No! No cups, no mugs, no glasses.”

“Jesus, chill,” Eskild shoves at him, and Even lights up: “I knew I forgot something!”

He soon goes to dick around on Pinterest before bed, but Isak feels weird about abandoning Eskild alone, so he lingers. They're sitting on the narrow windowsill with succulents for company when Eskild cocks his head just _so_ , theatrical, and declares, “Anyway, Jann broke up with me today. Like, straight after we had breakfast.”

“What?!”

“I know, right? Who dumps people so early in the morning. Honestly.”

Eskild doesn’t look that heartbroken per se, but, well. He hasn’t had even a sorta-boyfriend in a long time, and this Jann guy actually came over to the flat more than once. It must hurt at least a little? The constipation probably shows on Isak’s face, because his shin gets kicked.

“Relax, baby gay, guru is fi-i-ine.”

“No, that-” Isak stands up and goes to his friend’s side, towering over him. “That sucks so bad, he was such an asshole, you can do better?” He trails off.

“Are you asking me?” Eskild smirks. “Because – yes, to all that. And why are you hovering?”

Isak shrugs a single shoulder awkwardly.

“Oh my god, were you going to hug me? Oh my god, you were! Oh my god, bring it on!”

All escape attempts fail, and Eskild bear-squeezes and nuzzles him for dear life. Isak pats his back the way he does to Jonas when they’re both drunk.

“Just don’t tell Noora for now, okay?” Eskild whispers against Isak’s clavicle. “It’s not the time.”

“Sure. Do you maybe want some cocoa with flat cream?”

“Flat cream?”

 _No one came home and brought me snacks. I hate you, roommate stealer_ , Linn text just after midnight.

***

“It’s totally fine, I’m not mad. Pink is, in fact, my new favorite color. I heard it’s considered manly in Japan, but even if not! Fuck gender norms, right?”

Jonas is completely the one at fault here. He, his anti-capitalist agenda, his ethically sourced locally hand-made recycled clothes, and his beanie addiction. And he’s the one who left it lying around when he came over to teach them green life hacks. It’s not Isak’s fault; stealing Jonas’s beanies is just what he _does_. Jonas _knows_ this. All of his dark-red clothes are practically bought for Isak nowadays.

Well, maybe Jonas wasn’t there when Isak fed a load of light laundry to the machine and missed the damn hat amongst it. But they were probably skyping or something.

All of Even’s white t-shirts were there. All of them. Accordingly, all of them are pastel pink now. They died/dyed together, like brothers in arms should. Including this meta one, a gift from Chris: a Death Star with Even’s face where the crater usually is and a “Næsheim Strikes Bech” under. The print is on a square film that stayed white, now channeling those sweet Teletubby vibes. It’s more a piece of performance art than a t-shirt, by this point.

Isak can’t be sure why it shrunk, though. He chose the most basic setting – it usually works for him.

What he is sure about, however, is the fact that he never fully understood what a twink is before this exact moment. Even is laughing at him, sunlit hair disheveled, as he spins slowly in his ridiculous tee and blindingly white boxer briefs and nothing else. Barefoot in _their_ bedroom. The shirt is almost bursting at the seams, and its edge keeps riding up to bunch just under Even’s navel.

“I’m wearing skinny jeans and a jacket with this and nothing else,” he declares.

“Take anything you want, wear something of mine, just don’t do this to me-e-e,” Isak half-growls half-whines. He is literally rolling on the floor atop a pink pile of cotton blend. Even falls on his lap like a deranged cat and makes himself comfortable. His hair tickles Isak’s thighs, but he has no moral resources to do something about it.

In the quiet, the Nas poster they stuck to the wardrobe door peels off at the top with a weird prolonged sound and flops over. Now it’s just a low-hanging empty rectangle.

“This apartment is cursed. What, tape doesn’t work suddenly?!”

“I don’t know,” Even smiles up at him, eyes sparkling, “I like it.”

**Author's Note:**

> [ **Fanart blog.** ](http://bravekate.tumblr.com/)
> 
> This is me, de-stressing while writing a part three of [**Director Næsheim**](http://archiveofourown.org/series/615487/).
> 
> Thank you for reading this pointless piece of fluff!
> 
> Disclaimer: English is not my first language.
> 
> XOXO


End file.
